They've pretty much eliminated one of my big beefs about going to church. Apparently it's now okay to just roll out of the hay; maybe disguise your bed head with a ballcap, throw on some shorts and make ready to grab some pew at your nearby sanctuary. As a kid, dressing up to get saved cramped my style.
Nonetheless, having agreed weeks ago to join my daughter, Katie, and her family for Easter services, Linda and I dressed up for a very rare Sunday appearance. Outside of weddings, funerals and the occasional baptism I have a somewhat spotty record of church attendance. My brother and I were dragged to both Sunday school and church every week from birth to our much longed for parole from high school. In addition to getting "duded up", we both hated the music and the constant threats of eternal damnation for questionable deportment the other six days of the week. It seemed to be a losing proposition. Other than the fine climate, heaven didn't seem to be worth the effort if all our friends were going to be partying south of there. As a consequence, since leaving my parents home, I have been to Sunday church services maybe four or five times in forty-five years. Like I said, a spotty record.
It's not that I don't believe in something bigger and wiser than all of us. I do. However, I still don't like the music, ritual, or dogmatic nature of formal religion. God makes me nervous when you get him indoors. I also have decided after years of searching for loopholes that the bible is the product of a committee that bothered neither to fact check or even collaborate as they pieced together their collection of allegories and proverbs. Pretty good stories but, call me a sceptic, certainly all designed to keep us in line.
So, there we were, Easter Sunday in church with family on a beautiful Southern California day. Since it had been awhile, I was taking it all in. There were people in shorts, t-shirts, jeans and even one guy who didn't know enough to remove his University of North Carolina ballcap in one of the nicest churches in downtown San Diego. I still can't stand the music and the ritual, but the pastor had a quite wonderful message on beauty: "There is the beauty we see. More beautiful is what we understand, and MOST beautiful is what we don't understand." I liked it and I liked him.
During the service my one and only grandson, 18 month-old Dan, was seated on his mother's lap. He still nurses before going to sleep each night and his mom knows it is closing in on time to ween him. She is not looking forward to it as the boy clearly enjoys his boob nightcap and she realizes how hard it will be to end this ritual. At one point during the service young Daniel pulled on the top of Katie's blouse, looked down her front and said, "WOW!" I laughed hard enough to double my collection "drop" when they passed the plate. It was a priceless moment. (Soon I will have to have that chat with Dan about saying good-bye to anything resembling those things until he gets his drivers license.)
Everything considered it was a very pleasant Easter Sunday and one of the select times when I was almost over dressed. Who knows, maybe I'll be there next year. Maybe it will be God's turn to look down and say..."WOW!
Nonetheless, having agreed weeks ago to join my daughter, Katie, and her family for Easter services, Linda and I dressed up for a very rare Sunday appearance. Outside of weddings, funerals and the occasional baptism I have a somewhat spotty record of church attendance. My brother and I were dragged to both Sunday school and church every week from birth to our much longed for parole from high school. In addition to getting "duded up", we both hated the music and the constant threats of eternal damnation for questionable deportment the other six days of the week. It seemed to be a losing proposition. Other than the fine climate, heaven didn't seem to be worth the effort if all our friends were going to be partying south of there. As a consequence, since leaving my parents home, I have been to Sunday church services maybe four or five times in forty-five years. Like I said, a spotty record.
It's not that I don't believe in something bigger and wiser than all of us. I do. However, I still don't like the music, ritual, or dogmatic nature of formal religion. God makes me nervous when you get him indoors. I also have decided after years of searching for loopholes that the bible is the product of a committee that bothered neither to fact check or even collaborate as they pieced together their collection of allegories and proverbs. Pretty good stories but, call me a sceptic, certainly all designed to keep us in line.
So, there we were, Easter Sunday in church with family on a beautiful Southern California day. Since it had been awhile, I was taking it all in. There were people in shorts, t-shirts, jeans and even one guy who didn't know enough to remove his University of North Carolina ballcap in one of the nicest churches in downtown San Diego. I still can't stand the music and the ritual, but the pastor had a quite wonderful message on beauty: "There is the beauty we see. More beautiful is what we understand, and MOST beautiful is what we don't understand." I liked it and I liked him.
During the service my one and only grandson, 18 month-old Dan, was seated on his mother's lap. He still nurses before going to sleep each night and his mom knows it is closing in on time to ween him. She is not looking forward to it as the boy clearly enjoys his boob nightcap and she realizes how hard it will be to end this ritual. At one point during the service young Daniel pulled on the top of Katie's blouse, looked down her front and said, "WOW!" I laughed hard enough to double my collection "drop" when they passed the plate. It was a priceless moment. (Soon I will have to have that chat with Dan about saying good-bye to anything resembling those things until he gets his drivers license.)
Everything considered it was a very pleasant Easter Sunday and one of the select times when I was almost over dressed. Who knows, maybe I'll be there next year. Maybe it will be God's turn to look down and say..."WOW!
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